


Every Wave Crashing Down

by coffeehousehaunt



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarktavia - Freeform, Clarktavia week, F/F, Fluff, Future Fic, Multi, POV Outsider, Polyamory, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehousehaunt/pseuds/coffeehousehaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legends, living and not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Wave Crashing Down

**Author's Note:**

> The Jasper and Monty mentioned in the fic are, in fact, _not_ the canon Jasper Jordan and Monty Green. 
> 
> Title from Dan and Shay's "19 you + me".

They always know when she’s coming; there arrives a letter, carried by a rider bearing the mark of the Commander. The general herself receives it; it is intended for no one else. That is in times of peace. 

In times of war, they say, she arrives unannounced; but she has not arrived unannounced in the memory of the youngest generation. 

Granted, the youngest generation is maybe ten.

There is no further fanfare, or announcement, but one morning, at dawn, the general will turn towards the gate as if she hears something, and then she appears. She’s of a similar age to the general, and they both bear the marks of the war on them: In scars, in the way their hands hover around their weapons. In the heaviness that settles on them, here, a battlefield so many times over. 

She dismounts, and the general does not bow, as one would in the presence of the Chancellor of the Ark and the Commander’s beloved. They regard each other with a shared silence that falls across the square, fills it with the whispering memory of the strange, soaring architecture that lies ruined about them; shrinks the wide square with its dipped council chamber into the ruined town living in fear of the Mountain. Together, they look younger, and older; something set apart, something that doesn’t quite belong, in this time and place. Even this, the largest this city has ever been, cannot quite contain them; but maybe it’s not just the space. 

Finally, the Chancellor smiles, a small quirk of her lips that changes everything and banishes the ghosts, and the general smiles, wide and open. The Chancellor embraces the general, sword and armor and all, and impossibly, the general returns the embrace. 

The Chancellor says something into her shoulder, and the general laughs, a sound rarely otherwise heard, and her arms tighten. 

They part, and the general takes the reins of the Chancellor’s mount, speaking to it softly in Trigedasleng, and they walk like that, the three of them, in a mix of English and Trigedasleng that’s entirely their own language. They leave the mount with the warriors and disappear into the the council chambers. 

***

“What d’you think they’re doing down there that takes three days?” Jasper asks by midday on the second day. 

“Why don’t you go ask them yourself?” Monty grumbles. “I’m sure they’d be happy to tell you.” 

“You sound just like Mom.” Jasper whines. 

“You say the same thing every time the Chancellor visits.” 

“Fine! I’ll go find out myself.” 

Monty snorts. He always says that, too. 

***

Monty wakes up that night, because something doesn’t feel right. He rolls over--

And Jasper is gone. 

He’s up in an instant, and out of their house with barely a sound--Jasper’s the one who gets the compliments, the one who’s a warrior in training, but Monty’s just as good, when he needs to be. He crouches down in the shadow of the last ring of houses before the clearing and the Pit. 

He knows where Jasper went. He just can’t believe that Jasper would be that _stupid_. He’s going to get killed. The general’s not just a warrior, she’s a living _legend_. 

He sees a shadow move from the houses to the side of the council building, barely a flicker. _Jasper_. He retreats behind the first row, darts from shadow to shadow until he sees another flicker of movement along the side of the rounded council building. 

Monty steps from the shadow of the house to the side of the council building. Jasper startles. 

“What? You didn’t expect to get caught? You’re lucky I’m not a guard.” 

Jasper grins. “Bet you’re too scared to find out for real.” 

“Am _not_.” 

Jasper grabs a rock and hurls it with all his might between the houses on the opposite side of the Pit. Within seconds, the guard comes to check it out. Jasper pushes at Monty’s arm, and they scramble for the door. 

Somehow, they make it through almost silently, and from there, they sprint down the halls of the council chambers. They’re usually always open, but when the Chancellor comes, it’s watched carefully. They don’t stop til they reach the first curve of the stairs, breathing hard and trying not to laugh. 

Monty looks around; the ceilings are so _tall_. There’s paintings hung on the walls; some look like familiar things, clan markings and banners, but some--

He’s seen the paintings, from before the bombs, the Death, the Fire; he’s always felt that same out-of-placeness, that same not-quite-here that he feels between the general and the chancellor. Like standing on the edge of a world he can’t see. 

But like this, a couple breathless shadows clinging to the wall, the pictures open up, the colors become vivid, moving things, and he thinks he sees the forces moving behind them; animate, breathing, willful. 

It occurs to him again that that world is all around him. Here and gone. 

He doesn’t know where the general’s quarters would be, exactly; the only idea they have is _down_. So down they go. 

When they reach the bottom, Monty has a tense, hot feeling in the pit of his stomach. He catches Jasper’s arm. “If we get caught down here--”

“Ssh.” Jasper brushes him off. Then, “D’you hear that?” 

Monty almost says, _Hear_ what _?_ , but then he does hear it. A soft, lilting sound. A voice? 

They creep down the hall towards it. It stays soft, steady, but comes unmistakably closer and closer. Finally, they’re standing in front of a door, that voice drifting soft and sweet from behind it. It doesn’t sound quite like either the general or the Chancellor. 

The voice is singing. 

There’s a keyhole, though; Jasper attaches himself to it like a leech. He stays there for a long time, face scrunched up like he’s trying to figure out what exactly he’s looking at. Finally, he steps back, face bright with excitement, but also like he’s a little bit confused by what he sees. He motions Monty over. It takes him a minute to line up his eye; the whole time, his skin is prickling, even though Jasper’s still standing watch. When he finally does get it lined up, though, he feels the same look spreading on his face. 

He knows what he’s seeing, he just doesn’t know _what_ he’s seeing. 

The general is lying with her head resting on the Chancellor’s chest--and are they _naked_?--and the Chancellor is _singing_ , her fingers stroking through the general’s hair slowly. It’s unlike any song Monty’s ever heard. It’s not sad, exactly--he’s not sure _what_ it’s supposed to be--but he can see the look on the general’s face, her closed eyes, Chancellor Griffin’s small, crooked smile. It makes something in his chest hurt. More than ever, he wants to leave; this isn’t his world. 

Abruptly, a hand closes over his mouth, and he’s yanked away from the keyhole. 

***

They’re brought before the general and the chancellor almost immediately, in that exact room; Monty’s face burns with embarrassment as they’re led in and find both of them on their feet, a sword in the general’s hand and a gun in the Chancellor’s, all that ache-inducing ease gone. Not only are they an embarrassment to their family, the two of them looked so--so--

Peaceful. 

“Put them down.” The Chancellor commands in crisp Trigedasleng, and the arms around Monty vanish. 

“Leave us.” The general says to the guards that have so far remained completely invisible to Monty; he hears them leave, but doesn’t dare look over his shoulder.

The general sighs and sinks back down on the bed, not bothering to cover up; she sets the sword under the bed. “You two, huh? I wondered when I’d be seeing you.” She doesn’t look angry; if anything, she looks amused. But Monty still tenses, swallows. The general has green eyes, bright and sharp and cutting even just looking at him. Even just reclining on her side.They take apart warriors, take apart armies and plans and cities and souls. And now they’re looking right at him. He’s not sure if he remembers his own name. 

The Chancellor looks at the general. “You know them?” 

The general nods, and points to Monty and his twin. “Town troublemakers. That’s Jasper. That’s Monty.” She’s grinning, easy, lying on her side. 

Monty gapes, mind whirling. “You know our _names_?”

The Chancellor laughs, short and disbelieving, looking back and forth between the general and Monty and his brother. “They _didn’t_.” 

The general nods, grinning wider. “They did.” 

The Chancellor laughs again, longer this time; looks at the two of them and shakes her head disbelievingly. “Jasper and Monty.” She bends down. “Do you know who they were?” She asks them. 

Monty nods, looking down at his feet, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. It’s Jasper who answers, “They were your warriors.” 

The two women laugh out loud. The general hits the Chancellor with a pillow. “This is what you get, Princess.” 

The Chancellor laughs like she can’t believe it. “No, they were our friends. They were--” Something flashes over her face, and suddenly Monty feels a lot shorter, feels his throat close, because he’s just a stranger, even though his name isn’t, and he thinks maybe their story ends very differently than the one he’s heard. “--They were my friends.” She looks between the two of them, something unreadable on her face, and a slow smile forms. “They broke in.” She says finally, to the general. 

“Yeah, they did.” The general says with a small smile, picking at the blanket, hair loose. She looks up at them, one eyebrow arched. “You two weren’t being pervs, were you? Jasper and Monty were _huge_ pervs.” The Chancellor snorts. 

Jasper stammers. “No! No, we--we heard the singing.” 

They look at each other and shrug. “Half bullshit’s good enough for me.” The Chancellor says. 

“Oh, they’re on work detail for the next year.” The general says, still grinning casually. “Can’t just have them sneaking in whenever they want.” 

“You might not have much say in that.” The Chancellor replies, then turns back to them. “Monty and Jasper.” The Chancellor--Clarke, she’s just Clarke now--laughs again. “Every time I think I’ve convinced myself Lexa’s full of shit.” She looks them both over, and Monty wonders what it is she sees. 

“What happened to them?” Monty asks, trying to keep his voice strong, keep it from shaking. He clears his throat. “What happened to Monty and Jasper?” 

Clarke looks at him, and he thinks he understands why she’s the chancellor, because even with just a sheet wrapped around her, she looks right at him and right through him. Finally, she quirks that small smile and says, “It’s a long story. You wanna hear it?” 

The general--Monty can’t even _think_ of her as Octavia--mock-sighs. “I forgot you’re so _soft_.” 

Clarke shoots her a look. “I didn't hear _you_ complaining earlier.” 

The general looks Clarke over like she’s sizing her up, except something about it makes Monty think that they should maybe go home now. Then she sighs and rolls her eyes, pulling the blanket up over herself. “You’ll be up all night with these two. They’re legendary.” 

Clarke smiles. “Who’s the princess now? I’ll let Lexa know I’ll be another day or two tomorrow. You _do_ have a working radio, even if you refuse to use it.” 

“Will Lexa be okay with that?” 

“Things are slow in Polis.” 

“Are things _ever_ slow in Polis?” 

Clarke smirks. “If you’re not the Commander.”


End file.
